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“There's no virtue in picking a fight. If you find yourself in a fight, your job is to win. But if you can't win, you have to look for a way out.”
- Jake Welch
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The first guy to come at me is pretty thin, which makes my job easier. He reaches out and grabs me by the shoulders. Bad choice man, I place my hands on his wrists, lower my body forward and kick with my right leg, in order to hit the belly of the aggressor who roars in pain. I take a few steps back so that the minimum distance corresponds to the size of an extended arm. This gives me a little more time to react to the next blow. The greater the distance, the more vulnerable my opponent will be, since he'll have to be off-balance to reach me.
I can hear you from here. I gave the first blow, yes, but so what? 38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgFKDtVgar0
As I step back, I have time to identify the attack of the other, bigger and stronger man, who is coming at me, but it's too late, he's already very close. I take a defensive action, protecting my face by raising my arms in front of me and tucking my shoulders in. The blows come fast and are full of power.
Ah... It's been so long, I'm almost tempted to let him give me a real hit. He grabs my wrists and tries to spread my arms. I'm at a strength disadvantage, so I have to dodge quickly.
The spectators boo the man and encourage me to win the fight. I knee him in the cock and hear him whimper like a little girl. Then a sharp pain shoots through my abdomen. I look down, a beautiful gash visible in the little black top Cassie bought me today.
- Xiona! shouts Cassie, panicking at the sight of the blood that now marks my belly.
- It's nothing. I assure her.
I turn to the man with the knife.
- Is that what you're going to use to stop me? I sneer.
- Come here, bitch. He orders.
I lunge forward and give him a roundhouse kick. He collapses right away. This taekwondo technique, learned after my father's death, comes to me instinctively.
I feel the wound deepen and the blood flow. Normally, I would have gloated at the pain, but now it's my ego that takes a hit, for having let my guard down against this two-bit kingpin.
The other man tries to pick up his companion, but he's too stunned and falls back again. A girl hands me a bottle. I'm about to strike the final blow. The man plants his glassy eyes in mine, and I smile at him, excited at the prospect of crushing it against his skull. My arm advances towards him, dangerously, at breakneck speed, and he closes his eyelids, ready to take it.
But strangely enough, I don't hear the thud of the impact. I look around me, time hasn't stopped. Someone is holding my forearm with a lot of strength but effortlessly. Curious, I look towards the person who's preventing me from hitting the swelling.
- That's enough. Bellows a deep, husky voice that reaches my ears.
My eyes still riveted on the few of his face I can see, I realize a few seconds later that this person is none other than the mysterious man from the bar last time. His long, slightly wavy hair still falls in front of his eyes. A hood is once again placed over his hair, as if the black sweater he wore earlier had become his second skin.
I don't release my fingers from this bottle and try to undo his animal grip, but I don't move a millimeter.
- Let go of me! I recommend in his direction.
He takes my arms and positions them behind my back. I'm impressed by his speed. With his back to me, he murmurs:
- I said, that's enough. he demands, his tone calm but piercing.
His voice travels through my body, sending little shocks through me. I capitulate when I see the pervert frightened for some unknown reason. He pushes Cassie towards us before disappearing with his dogs. She runs to my side and asks me to stop, not to make myself more conspicuous.
The man looks at someone in the bar and snaps his fingers, the next second the person at the back of the room nods and disappears into the crowd.
He leads me into a small, dark room at the back. Red velvet sofas, a coffee table with bottles of alcohol and drugs, not surprising in a place like this. What catches my eye, however, is a bookcase, featuring a hundred books in the corner of this stark, windowless enclosed space.
He pushes me onto the sofa, and I immediately stand up. Cassie is standing by the door, on guard, not sure what to say or do.
- Let us go. I ask.
- You've made quite a mess. He replies with his head down, so we can't see his face.
- Oh, like bar fights are abnormal? I scoff.
- Not in mine. You'll have to pay for the damage.
- If it's money you want, here's some! I throw some bills on the table.
He puts his hand on it to retrieve them. I quickly grab his wrist with the idea to defend myself and running away, but I freeze when he plants his gaze deep in mine.
That color, that look that had so upset me last time. His black eyes, tinged with hatred, betrayal and pain. They were beautiful, he was beautiful.
He pulled a knife from his pocket and in an instant, I found myself with my back against the wall, the icy blade against the skin of my neck. My breathing misses a beat and despite the dangerous situation, I smile, wide-eyed, like a madwoman escaping from a mental hospital.
- Do it! Come on, do it! I challenge him, almost begging him to finish me off.
- STOP! Cassie shouts behind us, mortified.
The bartender approaches her, whispers a few words before she leaves the room with him.
- We're alone now, what are you waiting for to clear my throat?
With his head still lowered, I could see his jaw contracting more and more as he pressed the sharp side against my skin.
I could see he was holding back from drawing my blood, but he dropped his hand against his body, the knife receding.
I still hadn't escaped, something about him attracted me, I wasn't afraid, no, I was excited. He sat me down and knelt down, pointing the blade at me again. A drop of blood was at the tip of the blade. I knew immediately that this madman had really hurt me.
- Don't touch me ever again. He says in a harsh voice, emphasizing every word.
He brings the blade up to his face, sniffs it and licks gently up and down. His tongue, now tinged with my blood, passes over his lips as if it were an exquisite delicacy. The vision he offers me should make me want to vomit, so why did I find this so sexy.
- Not a chance. I replied.
He gets up and throws some paper at me. I flinch in pain, from the sudden movement that continues to open the wound in my belly, as I catch the roll he throws at me.
- Clean up the blood on the ground and get out of the way. He growls, not even bothering to look at me. He storms out of the room, fists clenched, slamming the door behind him.
I finally find myself alone and lift my top to better assess the severity of the wound. The gash is at least six centimetres long and deeper than I expected. Blood continues to flow. I tear off a piece of paper towel and press it down with clenched teeth. My eyes land on the alcohol and drugs in front of me. Shit, I promised myself I wouldn't touch it again. I approach the trail of white powder, but end up holding back.
I open a bottle of tequila and take several large gulps to relax. After all, I haven't been able to drink as much as I'd like tonight, but the evening has been more eventful than expected.
I pour a little alcohol over my wound. It stings, a slight moan escapes me. Fuck, it hurts. If I ever see that bastard again, I'll break his fucking neck. I clean the wound and wrap paper towels around my belly. I walk out of the room without wiping the blood off the floor, and run into Cassie.
“Let's go.”
She puts her arm around mine and we exit the “Yae” establishment safely. After a few steps, I turn back to the building.
I'm facing you, up close. There you are, leaning against the gray wall of my favorite bar. You're smoking your fag, one foot up against the wall, like a mercenary at rest, staring at me. Your face is now fully visible.
It's the first time I've been able to see your face up close, and I detail you as if I needed to know more about you.
Your skin is pale, and your dark circles stand out even in the dark. Your temples, your eyes and your neck are marked by tattoos. You're clean-shaven, and a piece of flesh is missing from the top of one of your ears. A long scar runs down from your skull to your right eye, while a smaller one runs down one of your cheeks. It's the kind of scar you'd see on a pirate or a mobster, and you've got that face you see just before you die, the face of a grim reaper. At 6'3", with square shoulders, I imagine your body hidden under those loose clothes, wondering if there are any other indelible marks embedded in them.
The waiter whispers something to you, and I think I see a faint smile on your mouth, or perhaps it's the sizzle of the streetlamp you're standing under that's playing tricks on me.
A new sensation creeps under my skin, that of having become your prey.
ns 15.158.61.17da2
